Wednesday evening, November 18
Beth's message came at four.
Have you eaten? I'm getting dumplings about seven.
Willa was eating a piece of toast over the sink. She put it down to answer.
I could.
Beth sent the name of the place. Willa knew it, the little window near the bus stop, and wrote that she would be there.
At six forty she was already across the street from it. The church clock still said eleven twenty. She watched a man wait at the window with an open container in his hand, explaining something to the woman inside. He tasted what she gave him on a spoon, considered it seriously and nodded. Then he shut the lid and went away.
Beth arrived from the other direction just before seven, on her phone. She saw Willa and held up a hand.
“No, don't do that yet. Lena. Just leave it. I'll call you at eight.”
She listened, her face changing.
“I know you didn't. I know. I'll call.”
She ended it and looked at her sister.
“Sorry. Have you been waiting?”
“Just got here.”
“Good. I'm starving.”
She went straight to the window. Willa followed, too close, and had to step back when Beth turned to ask what she wanted. She'd been thinking about the order for twenty minutes and said she didn't know.
“Pork?”
“Yes. Pork.”
They each paid. The woman offered Beth an extra pot of chili, and Beth said yes with a gratitude Willa would have liked to hear directed toward herself. Then her sister was trying to carry everything and answer a question about whether she wanted a bag. Willa took the forks.
“Around the corner?” Beth asked.
They found the bench empty. Beth sat at one end, then moved into the middle so Willa wouldn't have to sit in the wet patch. She had a canvas grocery bag over her shoulder and didn't take it off before opening the food.
“You've still got that on,” Willa said.
Beth looked down, as if she might mean a hat, then got the strap off her arm.
“Been wearing it all day. I might have a groove.”
She ate a dumpling, burned her lip and swore.
Willa laughed. Beth held up a finger while she swallowed.
“I knew. I did know.”
“You could wait.”
“I'm waiting now. See?”
She put another one on her fork and held it in the cold air. Willa ate hers too soon as well. They sat breathing through their mouths for a while.
A bus stopped at the corner and let a crowd out. Beth looked up at each person, then turned away as the doors closed.
“Lena told me this thing today,” she said.
Willa leaned toward her.
Beth took the dumpling off her fork with her fingers and put it back in the box.
“Doesn't matter.”
“Go on.”
Her sister shook her head. She was looking at Willa now.
“Okay,” Willa said.
Beth tasted the chili by itself.
“Oh, that's good.”
Willa put her fork into her own pot. It was fierce enough to bring water to her eyes. Beth was already eating more of it.
“You haven't got to prove anything,” Willa said.
“I'm not. I like it.”
Willa reached for her water. Beth looked at her and laughed, then began coughing. For a minute neither could speak.
“Very dignified,” Willa said when she could.
Beth nodded, still coughing. A woman going past offered a tissue. Beth thanked her and took it. Willa tried to thank her too, which set her sister off again.
When it had passed, Beth leaned back against the bench.
“I had a proper lunch. That's the annoying thing. I can't tell anybody I've been too busy to eat.”
“You can still tell Mom.”
“She'll bring a chicken.”
They smiled. Willa looked into her food.
“How was Monday?” she asked. “After I went.”
Beth took a breath, let it out, and wiped her nose.
“We talked.”
Willa waited.
“Quite a lot, actually. Then he made coffee. I don't know why that was the part I hadn't thought of. Sitting there drinking coffee after.”
“Did you stay?”
“For the coffee. Yes.”
Beth bent her head and ate. Willa remembered Simon in her own kitchen, blowing over the surface of his cup. She wanted to ask which things they had left for him, which things Beth had taken home. She could have asked about the cookbook. She could have asked whether he had cried.
“I got the trousers on,” she said.
Beth looked up, surprised into a smile.
“Good.”
“You should have charged me.”
“I didn't know how much you'd get for wearing them.”
Willa laughed. Then she wanted Beth to ask about the recording, properly, so she could tell her the burnt bits, her grandmother by the sink, how Jo had listened. Beth was eating the last of her food and using her fork to chase something around the corner of the box.
“I should have got more,” she said.
“Have one of mine.”
“Really?”
Willa held out the box. Beth took one, said thank you, and began eating it without any of the caution she'd just learned.
Beth checked her phone, then put it away again.
“You could come out,” she said. “On the tour. If you wanted.”
Willa looked at her.
“I mean for food or something. Some of it you could get to.”
“I'd like that.”
“We get lunch. Usually. The show has to stop happening for people to eat, whatever Lena thinks.”
“When?”
“I don't know yet. Let me get there.”
“Yes. Of course.”
Beth rubbed her shoulder where the bag had been. She looked up the street toward her building, then at the time again.
“I said I'd call her. I've got to get home first.”
They took their things to the trash can. Beth scraped the last of the chili onto a dumpling Willa hadn't finished and ate it standing there. Willa waited for her.
“What days are you teaching?” Beth asked as they walked back to the corner.
“Tuesday, Thursday. Mostly. It's changing.”
“Weekends?”
“Some.”
“Well, I'll send you what I've got.”
“All right.”
Beth stopped at the crossing and looked down the street.
“That's your bus.”
Willa turned. It was pulling in on the other side.
“Oh. Shit.”
“Go.”
She ran, holding a hand up to the driver, and heard Beth call, “Wrong one!” She stopped with her foot on the step. The driver looked at her. She looked back. Her sister was pointing toward the bus behind.